


Who'll Play Me In The Movie Of Our Lives

by Netgirl_y2k



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/pseuds/Netgirl_y2k
Summary: Amita rolled her eyes, because of course Daphne Kluger was a triple threat.





	Who'll Play Me In The Movie Of Our Lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psocoptera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psocoptera/gifts).



It didn't take long for Amita to learn that there was a reason you didn't move to Paris with a man you'd only recently met on the internet.

Tim from Tinder with the Tender Eyes (honestly, the alliteration had been half the attraction) had just finished explaining that he was leaving Amita for a French pastry chef. He'd thrown a handful of euro notes down on the table and left her sitting there with a half eaten cheese soufflé and a view of the Eiffel Tower when somebody slipped into his empty seat. 

That somebody was professional actress, newbie director, and amateur criminal Daphne Kluger.

Daphne smiled the wicked grin famous from her movies. "Fancy meeting you here." She called over to the table she'd just abandoned: "She's an old friend from New York," and then with a mischievous, sideways glance at Amita, "we were in the same book club."

"What are you doing in France?" Amita asked.

"I'm on location. My new movie is filming here. You?"

"Getting dumped."

"Ouch," said Daphne, and raised a bottle. "Champagne?" Amita realised that Daphne's dining companions looked put out not just because she'd abandoned them for a strange woman and half a soufflé, but because she'd taken the open bottle of Moet with her. 

Amita nodded, and nudged her plate forward. "Soufflé?"

*

"Rose has a shop not far from here," said Daphne as they strolled down the Champs Elysées after leaving the restaurant; Daphne collected admiring looks and surreptitious cell phone photos as they went, Amita pretended that the envious glances were for her. Take that Tinder! Take that Tim! 

"New York and London too," said Amita who'd recently read a glowing profile of the designer's comeback, "with plans for one in Dublin."

"Have you heard from any of the others recently?"

"I follow Constance on Instagram." She was @CondoConstance. "And Debbie called me a few months ago; the signal was pretty bad, but as far as I could tell she and Lou were either on a job or on their honeymoon."

Daphne laughed lowly and took Amita's arm. "Maybe both." They walked on until Daphne drew up and turned to face Amita. "I'm in town for a few months," she said, running her hands down Amita's arms and squeezing her hands, "we should see more of each other."

"Um," said Amita. "Yeah."

*

Amita had basically no expectations of ever seeing Daphne Kluger again, so she was somewhat surprised to open her front door the next morning, still in her pajamas with a mouthful of brioche toast, to a stone-faced Frenchman in a chauffer's cap who announced that Ms. Kluger had sent a car for Amita.

"Huh?" said Amita, mouth still full of toast. 

Amita had planned to spend the day in her pajamas nursing her broken heart - really, it was more dented pride - but when the driver explained that Daphne wanted to give her a tour of her movie set Amita left him standing on her doorstep while she made herself presentable. "There had better be pastries there!" she called as she dragged a brush through her hair. 

*

"Do you want—?" Daphne gestured to the last pain au chocolat. They were in her trailer and the box of pastries had been delivered by an extra in the uniform of a World War I nurse. Amita shook her head, and Daphne took the pastry. "Oh, thank God. You know, until last year I hadn't eaten a carb in fifteen years. I'm probably going to blow up like a balloon."

Daphne still looked movie star skinny to Amita, but there was something endearing about Daphne Kluger fishing for compliments like a mere mortal. "I saw the first movie you directed," said Amita. "It was good."

"It was okay." Daphne's careless shrug was almost convincing. "It did well enough that the studio gave me this one. But what I really want - " Daphne looked away from Amita, and tore her remaining pastry into chunks " - is to get this screenplay I've written made."

"You wrote a script?" Amita asked, because of course Daphne Kluger was a triple threat. "Can I read it?"

"Yes." There was a slight flush to Daphne's cheeks. "That is, if you want to."

*

"I see you didn't invest your millions in real estate," said Daphne, ducking through the doorway of the garret Amita was renting. She'd had the idea in her head that a Parisian garret would be romantic, but mostly it was just small, and felt smaller with Daphne Kluger surveying it.

"I put it into diamonds," said Amita, in case Daphne really cared about what she'd done with her cut. 

"I was going to use my share to make my movie," said Daphne, gesturing vaguely with the tablet computer she was holding, "but I've been staring at this script for so long that I honestly can't tell if it's any good or not." 

"Well, I can help with that." Amita took the tablet and nodded at the open bottle of red on the table. "Pour us some wine and I'll get reading."

*

"That was—" began Amita.

"Yes?" Daphne had perched on the edge of an armchair while Amita read, pretending to read a magazine and actually drinking pinot noir.

"—a little on the nose. I mean, a jewel heist pulled off by an all female crew?"

"I stripped out anything identifiable.," said Daphne defensively.

"And you've got some plot holes in here: you've got to establish the acrobat as a character earlier otherwise he comes off as a—" Amita snapped her fingers. "What do you call it?"

"Deus ex machina?"

"Yes, he's a deuce ex whatever. But—"

"But?"

"It's good. It's really good. I've got one really important question though."

"What's that?"

Amita grinned. "Who's going to play me?"

*

Daphne had given Amita a printed copy of her script, and Amita gave it back covered in red pen. Later Amita found herself invited to the editing suit where the lights were turned down and they watched uncut footage of Daphne's new movie.

As the WWI soldier and nurse shared their Big Damn Kiss onscreen Daphne squeezed Amita's knee and whispered into her ear, "You have a really good eye for detail."

It was not the sort of compliment that should have made Amita shiver with anticipation, and yet.

*

The other customers in the pretty pavement cafe didn't seem to appreciate Amita's loud one-sided argument being conducted in alternating English and Hindi. 

Amita's mother could somehow sense a breakup from the other side of the planet, and had called to lament her daughter's failure to keep yet another man.

"I didn't know he was going to leave me, Mama... How could I possibly have known—?"

Just then Daphne Kluger came sashaying into the cafe. Amita held the phone away her mouth, rolled her eyes, and mouthed _my mother_.

"—No, I... I never _said_ we were eloping... I'm not coming home to work in the shop, no I'm—"

Daphne ordered an espresso from a passing waitress, and held her hand out for Amita's phone. It wasn't like this conversation could be going any worse so Amita handed it over.

"Hello, Mrs Kumar... This is Daphne Kluger... Yes, that Daphne Kluger... I was hoping Amita would be staying in Paris long enough to attend the premier of my new film... Okay... Yes... I'd be happy to autograph a picture for your younger daughter...Lovely to speak with you."

Daphne hung up and handed the phone back to Amita. "Problem solved."

"The premier?"

"It's a press screening."

"Will there be paparazzi there?"

"I would imagine so," said Daphne. "There usually are."

"Good," said Amita firmly. "My sister might be married, but I'm going to a film premier on the arm of Daphne Kluger."

*

Rose Weil had left a message in her Paris shop that Daphne and Amita were to be given any dresses they wanted free of charge.

The French dressmaker looked Amita up and down. "This would require more alteration than we usually—" Daphne cleared her throat, and the girl looked at her stony expression. "But exceptions can always be made, _oui_."

*

There were indeed paparazzi outside the premier, and they snapped Amita walking in on Daphne Kluger's arm smiling like a lunatic, but when Daphne started tracing patterns on Amita's knee she bolted straight upright and made for the bathroom. Daphne had to stand awkwardly to let Amita past.

Amita was splashing water on her face when Daphne followed her into the bathroom. "What is your problem?" she demanded.

"You're Daphne Kluger," said Amita. "And I've been enjoying the heck out of you flirting with me, but _come on_ we both know you don't really mean it—"

Amita was cut off by Daphne pushing her up against the marble sink and kissing her. 

*

Daphne's hotel suit could have swallowed three of Amita's rented garret.

Amita stretched in the king sized bed, wrapped herself in a sheet, and padded through to the main room where she found Daphne in a robe, glaring at her tablet. 

"I am not a woman hater!" she hissed indignantly.

"Tell that to your lead actress," said Amita. "What's going on?"

Daphne handed over her tablet, the browser showing a gossip website. 

_Noted woman hater Daphne Kluger brought a lady friend to last night's premier,_ read Amita. The subheading _Who is Daphne's gal pal?_ was followed by several photos of Daphne and Amita walking the Champs Elysees together, drinking champagne overlooking the Eiffel Tower, and leaving last night's premier with Daphne's hand on Amita's ass.

"I'm your gal pal?"

"I hate that phrase."

"I don't," said Amita. "I'm Daphne Kluger's gal pal. Take that you arrogant married cow. "She pictured her sister's wedding portrait hung in pride of place in the shop. "Let's see who's mama's favourite now!" 

"You're adorable," said Daphne, pulling Amita down for a kiss.


End file.
